Innocence
by Arsinyk
Summary: COMPLETE An evil immortal is going around murdering innocent children... Just read it and it'll make sense, okay? Warnings: chan-slash, violence
1. Prologue

Summery: An immortal is going around murdering innocent children... what to do, what to do? Warnings: chan-slash, beheadings (like I have to tell you that)  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this... I'm just a slightly obsessed fan. Please don't sue me, I'm broke.  
  
A/N: I've just recently begun watching the reruns and this story just sort of popped into my head. I've already got it pretty much written, so now it's just a matter of posting it. And you don't have to know anything about h/l to follow this... just read and nod and pretend you know who Mac is and you'll be fine.

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**_Prologue:_**

The room was warm and dimly lit. The man smiled warmly at Peter as he ushered the young boy inside. Peter followed him in silent terror into the apartment, anticipating what he knew was to come. Waiting for the man to grab him and rip off his clothes and…

No, Peter wouldn't think about that. Not until he had to.

But the man didn't grab him. Instead, he led Peter into a small kitchen and gestured for the boy to sit down. Nervously, Peter perched in the edge of the chair, watching the man surreptitiously through lowered lashes.

"Are you hungry?" the man asked, his voice warm and gentle.

Mutely Peter shook his head. He hadn't had a proper meal in days, but there was no way he was eating this man's food. He was here for a reason and he just wanted to get it over with, collect the rest of his pay, and leave.

The man shrugged and began rummaging through the refrigerator. He heated up a slice of pizza in the microwave and poured a class of milk, then handed both to Peter.

Peter stared at the food, his mouth watering at the scent of cheese and tomato sauce rising from the pizza.

"I'm not hungry," Peter muttered.

The smiled and said in a firm but gentle voice, "Too bad. You're here to make me happy, which means you'll do what I want you to. And I want you to eat."

Peter looked from the man to the food and back.

"It's not poisoned," the man laughed. "What good would it do me to poison you now?"

Peter wasn't sure he believed the man, but he took a bite anyway. If the man wanted him dead, he would die and there was little enough he could do about it at this point. It was best to just go along with the man for now.

The pizza was delicious and Peter devoured the rest of it in seconds.

When he had finished, the man led him into the bathroom. But he didn't... do anything like Peter expected. He simply told Peter to get washed up and left.

After a few moments, Peter turned on the shower and pulled off his clothes. Trying not to think about why the man wanted him to do this or what the man might be planning, Peter stepped under the warm water. How long had it been since he'd last had a real shower? Years... not since his parents...

_No, _he wasn't going to think about that now. He couldn't afford to think now, to feel. It was too late for that now. Now he just had to do whatever it took to make the man happy.

A few minutes later, he stepped out of the shower, cleaner than he'd been in ages. He dried himself off and found a black silk bathrobe, much too small to fit the man. After a moment's pause, he pulled it on. Peter briefly combed his hair, trying not to look at his reflection in the mirror. Trying not to think about how thin he had become. Then he returned to the living room.

The man was sitting on the sofa. He looked up, smiling when he saw Peter.

Silently he took Peter's arm and led him into the bedroom. Peter felt his gut clench. Here it was. No matter how nice the man had been, Peter knew what was coming.

Cooperatively he let the robe slip from his shoulders, trying not to feel... exposed. He wanted more than anything else in the world to pull something over himself, or at least to fold his arm over his chest and hide himself, but he didn't.

Instead, he walked casually over to the man. The man smiled, his eyes moving hungrily over Peter's young, naked body. He reached out and caressed Peter's cheek, running his fingers through the boy's still damp hair.

Peter's heart was beating so fast he thought he might pass out. But he forced himself to stay calm and as relaxed as he could.

The man cupped Peter's chin in his hand, tilting his head upwards.

"Look at me," the man murmured.

Peter lifted his eyes, tentatively meeting the man's gaze. Dark, blue eyes, deep, kind and gentle. Peter felt something stirring deep inside. It felt strange, but good. Unbelievable good and… almost familiar. He could feel memories, hovering just beyond his consciousness. But he couldn't remember, not now. Now he had to focus himself on the man.

A finger, surprisingly gentle, traced its way over Peter's lips. The man stared intently into his eyes, almost like he was looking for something and Peter felt himself slipping, falling into those kind, deep, blue eyes. He gasped as he felt the warm, softness of the man's lips against his. It felt... it felt amazing. He had forgotten how good it could feel, just to kiss another man.

He felt the man slip his arms around Peter's waist, pulling him closer. But to his amazement, he didn't feel trapped by the man's arms. Instead, he felt warm, safe even.

And when the man entered him, it was wonderful beyond his wildest dreams. The man didn't hurt him, didn't leave him sore and bleeding, empty and alone. And when it was over, the man held him and stroked his hair until he fell into a light sleep, satiated, content and happier than he'd been in longer than he could remember.

The man watched the boy sleep, face innocent and young despite all he must have lived through. A child, really. Just a child. He stroked the boy's hair, lightly so as not to wake him. Waiting until he saw the boy's lips curve upward in a slight smile.

Then he carefully slipped out of bed and lifted his sword from where it lay, hidden beneath the bed. He didn't look at the boy. If he did, he would lose his nerve. So he just did it as fast as he could, swing the sword down onto the soft flesh of the boy's exposed neck.

He felt the familiar power surging through him, filling him, exploding from the boy's decapitated body. He threw his head back, screaming at the feeling... pure energy, coursing through his body. Filling his mind and body and soul with power. He was aware of nothing else, nothing but the energy flooding him, every aspect of his being.

When it was over, he dropped to the floor, gasping, exhausted. All around him was the remains of the Quickening he had just taken. The shattered window, smashed vases, bed splintered, thrown against the wall. And the body of a young, nameless, homeless, immortal prostitute, lying headless on the remains of the bed. Blood pooled around the body, staining the bed sheets and carpet a dull, thick red. The man felt revulsion and horror rising up from the pit of his stomach and looked away.

He sat there for a long time, surrounded by the chaos, crying softly. Crying for the death of a beautiful, young boy with no one else to mourn for him.


	2. Chapter 1

Erik flopped down on Steve's sofa, watching as the man locked the door behind them and hung up his coat.

Steve had first approached him several months before; one of the millions of men Erik had sold his body to for the night. Erik had, of course, expected Steve to be just the same as every other man and had been intent on getting down to business so he could get paid and leave. Some people (including most of Erik's clients) seemed to think that just because Erik was gay meant that he must love selling his body to every socially impaired, gay pedophile in the city, letting them rape him however they pleased and not giving a damn how he felt about it. It never seemed to occur to them that having some guy old enough to be his grandfather ripping up his ass until he thought he might pass out from the pain (or maybe just from blood loss) was not a fun time whether Erik preferred girls, boys, or hermaphrodites.

But when Steve had brought him into his house, he hadn't even fucked him. Not the first time. The first time, he'd just talked to Erik and given him a sandwich and had ended the night giving Erik a surprisingly gentle kiss, twenty dollars, and a teddy bear. He had found Erik a few days later and brought him back to his house. They had eaten dinner and talked, Steve asking him questions about his favorite food and what he thought of various singers. Then Steve had kissed him, as tenderly as before, handed him another twenty and said goodnight.

The third time, Steve had taken Erik out for dinner and then to a movie. After the movie, they had gone to Steve's apartment and Steve had made Erik some hot chocolate. Steve had held Erik on his lap and kissed him. Then he had asked if Erik would like to sleep in the couch since it was snowing out. Steve had gotten him some blankets and a pillow and then left Erik to sleep, but Erik had woken during the night to find Steve standing in the doorway of his room, watching Erik with a look if lust.

The next morning, Steve had suggested that Erik go take a shower. He had made them some breakfast while Erik washed and let Erik borrow some clothes he had had lying around (which had fit amazingly well, given that Steve was hardly his size). Then Steve had given him another twenty and he had left.

The fourth time, Steve had taken him shopping for some new clothes and then bought them both some ice cream. They had come back to Steve's apartment. There they had talked and then played video games until they got hungry and Steve made dinner. After dinner, they had slept together and in the morning, Steve had made breakfast and given Erik thirty dollars.

From then on, Steve had brought Erik to his apartment every few days. Sometimes they would see a movie or go to a theme park or get ice cream. Other times they would just hang out and talk or play video games at Steve's house. Then they would eat dinner and make love and in the morning, Steve would make breakfast and pay him.

Erik had even started talking to Steve about his past, telling him things he hadn't told anyone else. Steve had listened as he told the man about how he had come out to his uncle and his uncle had then gone off and outed him to his parents. To say that his father hadn't taken it well would be a gross understatement. His father had initially just attempted to beat it out of him. When that hadn't worked he had begun locking Erik in his room or starving him. At first, Erik's siblings had just tried to ignore it. His sister had even tried to stick up for him, once. Their father had responded by having the entire family shun her until she attacked Erik, attempting to kill him. After that, she had learned that if their father was ever angry with her, all she had to do was be cruel to Erik and their father would forgive her anything. Their mother had simply watched, smiling as Erik's father and sister became more and more creative in torture, frequently seeming to have forgotten why they were hurting him in the first place. His brother had attempted to restrain their father, arguing that if anyone found out what they were doing, it would mean trouble. On the rare occasion that for some reason his brother decided to hurt him, he always made sure they were alone and always ended by telling Erik that if he told anyone, _anyone_, even their father, he would kill Erik and he would make it look like an accident. A few times his brother had convinced his parents to take Erik to the hospital, because he was that badly hurt and if he died, they would get in trouble. He had told their mother and sister to cry and look upset or else and when Erik had come to, he had been waiting so his brother had been waiting to tell him the story he had spun to explain Erik's injuries and threaten that if Erik said anything else, his brother would kill him and make it look like an accident.

Steve had listened, trembling with anger when Erik described what exactly his family had done to him. It had been almost five months before his mother had intervened, quietly telling Erik that if he packed his things and left now, she would keep his father from following him.

Steve was the only other person who knew anything other than that his parents had kicked him out after he came out to them. They didn't know that his mother had been abusing him and his siblings for years while his father just watched helplessly. They didn't know that his uncle had all but forced him to come out to him and then turned around and outed him to his family after _promising_ he wouldn't tell anyone. They didn't know that his father and siblings had spent almost five months torturing him before he had run away. They didn't know any of it. He had only ever told Steve. And when he had finished, Steve had held him as he cried, stroking his hair and comforting him. Then Steve had promised to never, ever betray him like that.

Now it had been almost five months since they had first met and Erik had long since decided that Steve was one of the few people in the world he could truly trust.

"Want some pizza?" Steve offered.

"Sure."

Erik watched Steve through the doorway as the man set about heating the pizza. Steve was probably among the nicer looking of Erik's clients. He had short cut, ruddy brown hair and kind, soft brown eyes. Erik wasn't sure how old the man was, but he looked young enough. In his early thirties maybe, though something about him made him seem much older. He was strong and fit, though not overly muscular. Today he was wearing a green turtleneck and black pants. They looked good on him.

Erik couldn't remember ever being attracted to one of his clients before. Oh sure, he had liked some better than others, but he had never actually been attracted to one before. But Steve wasn't like the other men. Steve was kind and gentle and caring.

"Thirsty?" Steve asked.

Erik nodded.

"What would you like?"

Erik tilted his head, thinking. "A few million dollars might be nice."

Steve laughed. "To _drink_, smart ass."

"Hmmm… beer?"

"You're only twelve and this is the U.S. Try again."

Erik laughed. He had never understood why Steve would happily sleep with him, despite his being somewhat underage, but refused to let him drink, saying that he was too young. But Steve was paying him to do this and no matter how much he enjoyed his time with Steve or how casual Steve acted, Erik could never forget that. "How about some Pepsi?"

"Sure." Steve came into the living room with two bottles of soda and the pizza.

They ate and talked, Erik telling Steve about his old friends, from before his parents had disowned him. It was strange, how easy it was to talk to Steve. He felt like he could tell the man anything. Perhaps, had he met Steve a year ago – when he was still living with his parents – that might have alarmed Erik. But now it was just nice to have someone he could talk to and the man's motives really didn't matter.

"Oh, I bought you something... for your birthday," Steve told him as they finished eating. "It's in the closet. You want to go get it?"

Erik got up and walked over to the closet. "Where is it?"

"On the floor somewhere. It's in a box."

Erik pushed the coats out of the way. There it was, a square box wrapped in black paper all the way at the back of the closet. Something fell as he pulled it out. Something long, thin and heavy. He picked it up and stared. A sword, sheathed in a black, leather scabbard.

"Erik?" Steve called. "Did you find it?"

Something he had heard, just the other day, flashed through his mind. _"They found the poor kid's body. Headless, like it had been cut off with a sword, just like the others. But who goes around with a sword anymore? And this is the fourth headless kid we've turned up in one month."_

Erik swallowed, turning around. "What's this?" he asked.

"What... oh. That." Steve sighed. "It's a sword. My sword."

"Why do you have a sword?"

Steve sighed. "It's a long story," he told the boy, getting up and taking the sword from Erik. He put it away in the closet and brought the box over to the couch.

Erik followed him. "I heard... I some kids were killed, just recently... beheaded... by a sword."

Steve nodded. "And?"

Erik took a deep breath, wondering if he was about to meet the same fate as those other kids. But at least Steve had put the sword away. That had to be a good sign, right? "Did... did you..."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, I killed them."

Erik stared at the man. "But... but _why_?"

Steve caught his hands, looking him in the eye. "You have to understand. They were sick. They would have died anyway, and it would have been a much worse death."

"And… am _I_ sick? Is that why you've done all this for me?"

"_No_. No, you're strong and healthy," Steve said, pulling Erik closer. "I did all this for you because you deserve it. You deserve to be happy and live a good, long life. And because I love you." Steve held the boy close, stroking his hair and Erik leaned his head against the man's chest.

"Okay," he whispered, looking up at Steve. "I trust you."

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A/N: Thanks to everyone who commented. pHbalance: Thanks so much! Orange: Thanks for editing this, even tho you've never even seen the show... I'll be updating pretty regularly, and I've even added a bit to the sequel :D


	3. Chapter 2

Duncan looked from Richie to the two kids he'd brought over to the loft and back again.

"Who're your friends?"

Richie sighed. "The girl's one of us, Mac."

Duncan nodded. "So I figured. What are they doing here?"

"The girl just died... in front of her boyfriend. She was just reviving when I found them. I've told them both about us. I had to. I know we're not supposed to tell mortals, but..."

"Yeah, you had no choice. But what are they doing _here_?"

"I was hoping you could, you know, teach the girl. Like you taught me."

Duncan raised an eyebrow. "And why can't you teach her? You're immortal, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but you're a much better fighter. I mean, I can hold my own and all, but you've had 400 years to prefect your skill and I've haven't even been alive for one century. I don't want her to die just 'cause I wasn't a good enough teacher."

Duncan looked at Richie for a moment, then sighed. "How'd she die?"

"I got shot," the girl said softly, playing nervously with a lock of her curly blond hair. "Some drunken bastard shot me."

Duncan nodded. "Oh, and _why_ did he shoot you?"

The girl looked at him, confused. "I don't know... we were just going to a party and he jumped out from some alley, said some stuff, I don't remember what, and shot me."

"And where is he now?" Duncan asked, not sure if he should believe the girl's story.

"He ran away when he saw Richie coming," the boy told him.

"Right." Duncan turned to Richie. "These kids wouldn't by any chance have names, would they?"

Richie smiled, relaxing a little. "The girl's name is Sherry and the boy's Jerome."

Duncan sighed. "Did anyone else see Sherry die?"

Jerome shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Fine, I'll teach Sherry to use a sword. Meet at the dojo downstairs tomorrow around 3 and we'll start."

Richie grinned. "Thanks Mac. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Duncan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, ages. Centuries even."

"Well, to me it's been a long time. Anyways, it's good to see you again. What have you been up to?"

Duncan shrugged. "I've still got the dojo. Lately things have been pretty quiet. Shouldn't those two be going home? Surely someone's going to be worrying about them."

Sherry smiled. "Bye... and thank you."

"I'd better be going too," Richie said.

"Yeah. You can walk Sherry home and see that no one takes her head, hmm?"

Richie nodded and the three of them left.

  
  


Sherry showed up right on time the next day wearing jeans and a t-shirt, her hair in a ponytail. It quickly became obvious that she had absolutely no idea what she was doing. Duncan doubted the girl had ever touched a sword before in her life. Of course, up until now she had undoubtedly thought there was no reason to.

Sherry didn't seem overly eager to learn, either. She made half-hearted attempts to strike at him, waving the practice blade around lamely. Duncan was sure he could have taken her head in his sleep, without a sword. After a half an hour of trying in vain to teach her, Duncan was thoroughly annoyed.

Exasperated, Duncan disarmed her, sending her practice blade clattering across the dojo floor and knocking her to her knees. Duncan raised his sword, bringing it down just inches from her head.

She screamed, then sat there on the floor, staring in horror at Duncan's practice blade, lying on the floor. Then she turned slowly to look at Duncan and he was pleased to note that she trembling, her eyes wide.

"Now look. You're immortal and that means that there are going to be people after your head for the rest of your life – which may not be very long unless you learn to defend yourself. So let's try this again."

Shaking, Sherry got up and walked slowly over to where her practice blade had fallen. The moment she had it in her hand, Duncan came after her again. He disarmed her, but this time she rolled away from his sword, scrambling after her own blade. Duncan kept coming until he had her cornered against the wall. Then he let her get her sword and started again.

He kept at it for another two hours, until she was trembling and soaked with sweat. She stumbled over to the bench and collapsed. Duncan handed her a glass of water, which she took and drank down gratefully.

"So, what did Richie tell you about immortals?" Duncan asked her once she had caught her breath.

"He said that you can't die, unless someone cuts off your head."

"Is that all?"

The girl nodded.

Duncan shook his head. Of course, Richie would leave it to him to do all the real explaining. "Well, there's a little more to it than that. You become immortal when you die. Before that, you aren't really an immortal, though people who _are_ immortal can tell that you're a pre-immortal. We can live for centuries, millennia even. As you may have noticed, you can always tell when another immortal is around. We can only be killed when we loose our head, and when one immortal kills another immortal they take a quickening. They get all the other immortal's memories and strength. In the end, there can be only one. Now is the time of the Gathering, during which we all fight until there is only one left. One immortal with all the power and strength of every immortal that ever lived. The only place you are safe is on holy ground, because we cannot fight on holy ground.

"There are more rules about the Gathering, which I'll explain later. For now you must simply know that there are other immortals after you're head and if you're not careful and don't learn to fight, you _will_ die."

Sherry sat in silence for several moments, processing what he had said. Then she looked at him quizzically, asking, "So how do you know all this? About the rules and the Gathering?"

Duncan was somewhat taken aback by her question. "My teacher told me."

"But how did he know? How do you know that it's true, not just some myth made up by your ancestors? And how does someone get to be immortal? Why doesn't everyone become immortal when they die?"

Duncan blinked, unsure of how to answer. "Well... I don't, really. And you can believe what you like, but every other immortal out there believes in the Gathering, so they'll be after you whether you believe in it or not. As for who gets to be immortal and who doesn't, no one knows. We just are."

Sherry rolled her eyes. "That's informative. So... who decides what is or is not holy ground?"

"What do you mean?" Duncan asked, confused.

"I mean, is it holy ground according to the Christian faith, or is it holy just according to the immortals in question or to everyone or what? What if I decide that the entire earth is holy? And if a church burns down, does the land remain holy even though the church is gone? And what happens if you do fight on holy ground?"

Duncan shifted uncomfortably. He had never really thought about that before. "I guess... I don't really know," he admitted.

Sherry gave a small, triumphant smile, which Duncan found unreasonably irritating.

"Don't you have to be somewhere?"

Sherry smiled. "But I can't defend myself," she pointed out sweetly. "So I can't leave here alone. Would you like to escort me to the nearest church?"

Duncan gritted his teeth. "Why don't you stay with Richie? He did find you after all. I'll even call him and have him come pick you up."

"That would be wonderful."

  


  
  
Richie could not have arrived soon enough for Duncan. After persuading Richie to take the girl, Duncan had been forced to spend the next twenty minutes listening to her chattering mindlessly away about nothing. It took 400 years of patience to keep him from strangling her right there.

When Richie finally did arrive, she insisted on calling Jerome to tell him where she was before leaving. Then she spent almost ten minutes chattering away on the telephone while Richie cooled his heels. When Richie finally got her out of there, Duncan sagged against the wall, feeling thoroughly exhausted.

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A/N: Orange: I'll send it to you once I've got a reasonable amount written...  



	4. Chapter 3

Sherry had decided to take a walk. Richie had warned her that it was dangerous to go out on her own, but she was bored and tired of being escorted everywhere and generally being treated like a child unable to take care of herself. She was 20 years old, for God's sake. Plenty old enough to take care of herself, and she had yet to find anyone chasing after her with a sword.

Actually, now that she thought about it, she hadn't seen or felt _any_ other immortals around here. How did she know that Duncan and Richie weren't the bad guys, trying to get her to trust them and let her guard down so they could kill her at their leisure? Or maybe they had just made up all that about the Gathering so they could control her.

So she had decided to take a walk while Richie was out doing... whatever it was he did when he left. It was a nice day out, warm but not hot, the sky clear blue, the breeze smelling slightly of salt from the sea. A truly lovely morning. She was just thinking about going to find something to eat when she saw a young boy stumble out of one of the houses. He paused, shoving something into the pocket of his jeans, then started to limp down the street.

"Hey!" she called after him. "Hey kid!"

He didn't even look around. He just kept walking away from her down the street. Irritated, she walked after him. He was limping badly enough that it didn't take long for her to catch up.

"Are you all right?" she asked him.

"Fine," he snapped tightly.

"You look hurt."

He gave her a look of disgust. "How astute of you to notice."

"Look... maybe we should get you to a doctor."

"No! I'll be fine."

"Did... did your father do this to you?"

"No, my father didn't do anything to me," he snapped.

"Are you sure? It's okay if he did – it's not your fault. But you should really see a doctor and if your dad's abusing you–"

Now the boy stopped and turned to face her. "My dad didn't do anything to me. And I'll be fine. Just leave me alone."

"You don't have to lie to protect him, you know. He's the one who did something wrong and if he's hurting you, someone should really put a stop to it."

The boy groaned in disgust and resumed walking.

"Come on, at least let me get you cleaned up. You might get an infection."

"And what's it to you if I do?"

"No one deserves to be hurt. Please, let me help you."

"What do you think you are, a saint?"

Sherry sighed. "If your dad didn't do this to you, who did? Someone had to have; people don't just spontaneously develop injuries like this."

The boy's lips quirked. "Maybe _I_ do."

"Come on, tell me what happened."

The boy sighed, clenching his fists and glaring defiantly into her eyes. "Alright, I'm a whore and one of my _customers _did 'this' to me. Happy now?"

Sherry blinked at him, somewhat taken aback by his reply. "Well... then you should _really_ see a doctor and get tested for AIDS or other STDs."

The boy groaned in annoyance. "Can't you just mind your own business?"

Sherry shook her head. "Nope. I'm Sherry, by the way."

"Really."

"So you want to come home with me and I'll get you something to eat and take a look at you're injuries?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Sherry shook her head. "Not really."

"Then fine. Let's go."

Sherry grinned and proceeded to lead him back to Richie's apartment. "So what's your name? And whatever happened to your family?"

"Not very good with subtlety, are you?"

Sherry shook her head. "No, subtlety was never one of my strong points."

The boy hesitated. "I'm Erik. And my family disowned me."

"...oh." They walked in silence for several minutes before Sherry asked, "Why'd they disown you?"

The boy flushed, staring at his feet. "'Cause I'm gay."

"I'm sorry. It must be hard, not having a family."

Erik didn't respond and Sherry decided to leave it there.

  
  


When Richie had arrived back at his apartment to find the Sherry gone, he had been torn between the fear that she could very well be dead and relief that he didn't have to deal with her for at least a little longer.

After calling first Mac and then Jerome to see if she was with either of them, Richie had tried to figure out where she could have gone. He had been about to go looking for her when he felt an immortal's presence. Looking out the window, he saw her, walking next to some skinny brown-haired kid who couldn't have been more than 13.

Richie sat down casually on the sofa and flipped on the TV, leaning back and pretending to be watching. He looked up when she entered.

"Oh, so nice of you to come back."

She flushed. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to take a walk and–"

"You just wanted to take a walk and… what? Get your head chopped off? And who's your friend?"

She glanced at the boy. "His name's Erik. I found him on the street–"

"And what? You decided to keep him as a pet?"

"He was _hurt_! He'd been raped! I couldn't just _leave_ him."

"Actually, you could have and he wouldn't really have minded," the boy muttered.

Richie turned to him briefly. "Shut up." The kid shrugged. Richie turned back to Sherry. "You couldn't have at least left a note telling me where you'd gone? Do you _want_ to get killed?"

"No, I just..."

Richie shook his head. "Whatever. If you die, it ain't my problem. So what about this kid?"

"His family disowned him because he's gay and he's been living on the street for–"

"Two years," the kid supplied, looking vaguely amused.

"– two years... as a whore."

Richie shrugged. "So it wasn't really rape, then, if he's a whore."

Sherry stared at him in horror. "Do you think he _likes_ selling his body? He's just a kid, Richie. He's only–"

"Twelve," the boy filled in.

"He's only twelve. No twelve-year-old should have to sell his body to live. Gay or not, he should have a family... he should be going to school and hanging out with friends and being a _kid_. He shouldn't be on the street."

Richie looked at her, remembering his own, parentless childhood. "But he is... so are a lot of kids."

"But that doesn't make it _right_. At least we can give him some food and take him to a doctor or..."

"Fine. Go make us some lunch."

Sherry smiled and vanished into the kitchen. Richie shook his head. Maybe he should let her bring home kids more often. Every time he had suggested that she try cooking before, she had given some speech about women's rights and blah blah blah. Not that Richie didn't support women's rights, but asking her to prepare dinner or clean up after herself (since she was living in _his_ house and eating _his _food) hadn't seemed like an infringement on her rights to him.

Erik had flopped down on the sofa, making himself quite at home.

"So, why are you living with Miss Bossy over there?" the kid asked.

Richie rolled his eyes. "It's a long story."

"You know," Sherry called from the kitchen, "You could always adopt him."

"What?!" Richie spun around to find her standing in the doorway to the kitchen, smiling at him.

"You or Duncan or one of your friends... it's not like you don't have the time. Give him a home, a parent. Contribute something to society instead of just going around fighting people."

"_Sherry_," Richie hissed, giving a meaningful look at Erik. Hadn't he told her mortals weren't supposed to know about immortals? And the boy was most definitely mortal.

"What?" she asked innocently. "Just think it over, okay?"

  


After they finished lunch, Sherry asked Erik to go get cleaned up.

"So, are you going to adopt him?" Sherry asked once the boy was out of the room.

"What?"

"Are you going to adopt him? I mean, it's not like you can have children of your own and he needs a home, so..."

Richie looked at her. "What makes you think I want a kid? And anyway, it's too dangerous for us to have children."

"But he's not a baby. He's old enough to take care of himself a bit. And he'd probably be better off hanging with you anyway. Plus, you're immortal, so it's not as if you're giving up that much of your life. What's ten years when you can live for centuries?"

"So why don't you adopt him?" Richie asked, for lack of a better answer.

"Because I'm only 20, I'm still in school and don't have a job and can't even defend myself, much less him."

Richie shook his head. "No. I'm not adopting him, and that's that."

"Why not? Because he's gay?"

Richie stared at her, appalled by the question. "No, not because he's gay. Because I can't afford to have a kid tagging around with me. Because my life's too dangerous for children."

Sherry folded her arms. "What, are you a homophobe? Is that why you won't adopt him?"

Richie sighed. "No, I'm not a homophobe. I have nothing against gays. I just–"

"Then why don't you adopt him, if you don't mind that he's gay?"

Richie resisted the sudden urge to smack her and turned away. "I don't have time for this," he spat, walking into the living room.

"So you are a homophobe! You won't even admit it, but you are!" Sherry called after him from the kitchen.

Richie flung himself down on the couch, turning on the television.

"You know you are!"

Richie turned up the volume to drown out her voice. When he looked again, she had begun clearing the table. Richie considered asking her to _try_ not to break the dishes, but decided it wasn't worth it. He could always buy more.

The doorbell rang. Richie turned off the TV and answered it. It was Mac and Jerome.

"Hey, come on in," Richie greeted them.

"Did you find Sherry?" Mac asked.

Richie nodded towards the kitchen where Sherry was still attempting to smash his dishes as she stuffed them into the dishwasher. "She decided to take a walk. Came back with a twelve year old boy she wants me to adopt."

Jerome looked unsurprised.

"His name's Erik and his parent's disowned him because he's gay, or so she says. He's a prostitute. Right now he's in the bathroom washing up." Richie paused. "He did look pretty badly hurt."

Jerome nodded. "I take it you aren't keen on adopting a kid just now."

Richie shook his head. "No. I'm an immortal. My life's too dangerous for kids. But now Sherry says I'm a homophobe because I won't adopt him."

"Yeah," Jerome sighed. "She says that whenever anyone does something she doesn't like, whether it makes any sense or not."

Sherry finished clearing the table and came into the living room. "Jerome!" she cried when she caught sight of him and ran over to kiss him.

"So... have any of you looked at the paper today?" Jerome asked.

Richie shook his head. "Not yet."

"Why?" Mac asked.

"Well... there was this article about this kid who turned up beheaded yesterday." Jerome glanced at them. "The thing is, he'd been killed in a car accident a week ago, but his body had vanished from the morgue. Then they found him, lying in some alley. Untouched except for that he'd been beheaded. Like the car accident never happened. But it's him. It's his head. They did a DNA test and it's him. And apparently, this isn't the first kid to turn up headless. There've been four other incidents in the last month, except that the others were all street kids, homeless. So the police didn't look too hard."

Sherry looked from Jerome to Mac to Richie. "You think an immortal killed them?"

Mac nodded. "I can't think why else five kids would turn up headless. They were probably pre-immortals themselves."

"You know who might be doing this?" Richie asked.

Mac shook his head. "Not a clue. Other than that they're immortal and that they're living here in Seacouver. But I'll find them."

Just then, Erik came into the room. He had cleaned the blood off his face and arms and combed out his hair. He still looked terrible.

He looked at them for a moment. "I think I'll be going now." And with that, he left.

* * *


	5. Chapter 4

Richie made his way leisurely down the street. Sherry was currently being chased around the dojo with Mac, leaving Richie free from worrying about protecting her stubborn, clueless little head at least for a little while. He had enjoyed a quiet lunch Joe's bar and was now making his way as slowly as he could back to the dojo, savoring the last of his brief freedom. He wasn't sure what it was about Sherry that made him feel so trapped and impatient just thinking about her. He'd certainly been around immortals at least as infuriating in his short time since discovering his own immortality, but something about Sherry just set his teeth on edge. She just seemed so... so childish and immature and naïve and thoughtless and clueless and stubborn and headstrong and… and just plain annoying.

Richie was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice the presence of another immortal nearby until he was well within range. His head snapped up and looked around the street, silently cursing himself. They had to have sensed him by now and he _really_ didn't want to be challenged just now. But the street was hardly empty and hopefully this immortal would wait until they had a little more privacy before challenging him. He scanned the crowd, trying to locate the source of the presence, but with all the mortals around, it was hard to pinpoint. Then he noticed another man looking watching him surreptitiously. Their eyes met and Richie felt the familiar chill at seeing an immortal he didn't recognize. The man gave him a questioning look, hazel eyes seeming no more eager for a confrontation that Richie was. Richie looked away, crossing the street to put a little more distance between them. The man nodded, then took the hand of the little girl next to him.

Richie felt a sudden chill spreading through him as he realized that the girl was also immortal. No, not immortal. A pre-immortal. She was thin, pale and couldn't have been more than nine, but the way the man was looking at her, with thinly veiled lust on his face, Richie couldn't believe he was her brother.

_...They found him... untouched except for that he'd been beheaded..._

The man was talking to the girl. She seemed tense and impatient and finally they began walking purposefully down the street again. Richie waited until they were almost out of sight, and then followed them. If the man noticed the immortal shadowing him, he showed no sign of it.

He took the girl to his car and they got in. Richie followed them out to the main street, but then had to give it up. He looked at the license plate, but the car was too far away for him to be able to read it. Frustrated, he turned around and continued on his way to the dojo, now hurrying, impatient to see Mac and ask him about the man he had seen.

  


  
  
When Richie entered the dojo, Mac had already finished with Sherry. She was sitting on the bench at the edge of the room, watching as Mac sparred with Jerome. He was a much better student than Sherry, not that that was particularly hard. Richie watched in amusement as Mac chased Jerome around the room. When they were finished, Mac found his water bottle and walked over to Richie.

"You're early," he commented, only slightly out of breath.

Richie nodded. "I think I found the guy who killed those kids," Richie informed him, getting right to the point.

Mac raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"He was with a girl... an immortal. She was maybe nine or ten and she hadn't died yet. They drove off, so I couldn't follow them and I couldn't read the license plate."

"What did he look like?" Mac asked. There was always a chance he had met the immortal before, and even if he hadn't it was good to know what to look out for.

Richie frowned. "Well... pretty normal, I guess. He had short, reddish brown hair, light skin... I think he was probably a little shorter than you, but not by much. He had greenish eyes, I think, and I don't remember what he was wearing. I think he was maybe in his thirties when he died the first time..." Richie trailed off, seeing that distant look in Mac's eyes – the look he got when he was remembering something.

  


_Boston: 1861_

_Feeling the presence of another immortal nearby, Duncan looked up. The door opened and there was Steven Hawkings, back from his last trip into the South. He looked tired and somewhat haggard, but he was smiling._

_"Not one died, MacLeod," he whispered. "And no one got caught. Thirty blacks and they all made it."_

_Duncan laughed. "And so did you, it seems."_

_Steven sank down into a chair._

_"Hungry?" Duncan asked, knowing perfectly well the man was starving._

_Steven nodded. "But first I want a bath... I haven't washed in ages."_

_Duncan smiled and set about preparing their dinner as Steven washed up. Steven entered the small kitchen a few minutes later, looking much cleaner and somewhat less worn. They ate, drank and talked. It felt good, so good, to be able to talk to someone who truly understood Duncan. Someone who knew what it was like to be immortal... to lose all your friends and loved ones over and over and just keep going. To constantly have people after your head, to have to start a new life every time you died in front of anyone._

_They finished eating and moved into the living room, still drinking. They talked and joked and laughed and drank, sharing stories of past lives. Duncan hadn't talked about his past in ages and it was wonderful not to have to pretend he was centuries younger than he actually was._

_Suddenly, Duncan felt Steven's hand on his leg. Whatever he'd been saying – he couldn't remember now – died on his lips as he stared at the hand on her leg. Slowly he lifted his eyes to Steven's face. The man was looking at him with an odd expression – hunger, lust, uncertainty, and a million other emotions Duncan couldn't name mingled on Steven's face._

_"Steven?" Duncan said uncertainly_.

_"You're beautiful, MacLeod," the man whispered, slowly lifting his hand to Duncan's cheek._

_"Steven, what are you doing?" Duncan asked in alarmed._

_Steven caressed his fingers lightly over Duncan's cheek._

_Duncan drew back, catching the man's hand in his own. "Look, maybe you should go home now. I think you're a bit drunk."_

_Steven tilted his head. "I think we both are," he murmured, leaning forwards to brush his lips lightly against Duncan's._

_Duncan sat frozen still, staring into the other immortal's soft, deep, hazel eyes. "No. Don't."_

_"Why not?" Steven asked. "Because you like it?"_

_Now Duncan pulled away entirely, standing up. "Because it isn't right!"_

_Steven tilted his head and looked at Duncan in a way that made him feel somewhat naked. He resisted the urge to shift under that calm, appraising, lustful gaze. "Why?" the man asked him softly._

_"What?"_

_"Why is it wrong? Because we're both men? We're immortal, Duncan. What does it matter who we sleep with?"_

_Duncan swallowed. Steven moved his hands to Duncan's hips, staring up into his eyes until Duncan was forced to look away from the intense gaze._

_"It doesn't matter, does it? You've traveled all around the world, MacLeod. Surely you've seen that what you've been taught is right isn't necessarily so."_

_Suddenly Duncan remembered something. "So the rumors, they're true? The rumors that you've been sleeping with the boys you help free?"_

_Steven smiled. "And the girls."_

_Duncan stared at the man in horror. "But... but why? How could you sleep with... their just children... they trusted you. How could you rape them?"_

_Steven sat back. "I lead them to freedom. They were _slaves_ MacLeod. I hardly made their lives worse."_

_"And that makes it okay?"_

_Steven shrugged._

_"You rape children, an' then you expect me to sleep with you too?"_

_Steven sighed, folding his arms. "I didn't rape them, it was voluntary."_

_"As voluntary as it can be, seeing as they're slaves an' your freeing them, not to mention that you're about twice their size and older too," Duncan muttered._

_"Well... maybe if you'd sleep with me, I'd stop with the slave children."_

_Duncan stared at him. "No! It isn't right."_

_Steven smiled. "So what are you going to do, challenge me? Let me keep – raping – the children?" _

_Duncan shook his head. "Just stop. Stop raping them."_

_"I will. If you sleep with me."_

_Duncan clenched his fists. This was so wrong. The mere thought of... being with another man made him feel ill. But he was immortal. He could move on and start over again. He had all of eternity, and he could defend himself. The children couldn't._

_No, Duncan couldn't let Steven go on raping children. Even if it meant sleeping with the man himself. "Alright. I'll do it... but only if you promise to leave the slave children alone."_

_Steven nodded. "Okay."  
_

  


Duncan looked at Richie. _Steven Hawkings._ It had to be. He fit the description. And who else would go after pre-immortals? But how was Duncan supposed to find him? He didn't even know what name the man was living under.

"Mac?" Richie asked.

Duncan stared at Richie for a moment. "Steven Hawkings. It has to be."

"You know this guy?"

Duncan quirked his lips. "We've met."

_Oh yeah, we've met all right. _Duncan had spent the next five years sleeping with Steven whenever they managed to be in the same town at the same time. He had eventually gotten used to the idea of sleeping with another man, even enjoying it sometimes. He thought that perhaps, for a little while, he had even loved Steven. But then he had found out that Steven was sleeping with young white boys and free blacks. He had confronted the man, but Steven had just told him that they weren't _slave_ children, so technically he wasn't breaking their agreement. When he had refused to stop, Duncan had challenged him. Steven had lost, but a friend of Duncan's had interrupted them at the last minute and Steven had escaped with his head.

But not this time. There was no way Duncan was letting him escape again.

* * *

Joe's bar was crowded that night. Duncan sat at the counter, impatiently waiting for Joe himself to turn up. Richie was standing next to him, for all appearances enjoying the blues and his drink. Only the restless flicker of his eyes gave away his impatience. Sherry was at Richie's apartment with Jerome since Duncan was reluctant to tell her about the Watchers. It wasn't that he didn't trust her. It was just... all right, it was that he didn't trust her. But it was also that Joe didn't appreciate Duncan telling every immortal he knew about the Watchers, for the simple reason that the Watchers were a _secret_ organization. And Duncan knew he was going to have enough trouble trying to convince Joe to tell him about Steve Hawkings even without ticking him off by introducing him to yet another young immortal.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?" asked a voice in his ear. Duncan turned around, smiling when he saw his Watcher standing there.

"What do you know about an immortal named Steven Hawkings?" Duncan asked, cutting right to the chase. The music and conversations were loud enough that as long as they kept their voices low, Duncan doubted that they would be overheard. And humans, as Duncan had discovered over the centuries, had an incredible capacity to deny an unwanted truth even when it was staring them in the face.

"Not much," Joe replied. "Why?"

"Because he's the one who's been going around killing pre-immortals off the street."

Joe raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?"

Duncan nodded at Richie. "Because Richie saw him… and it's exactly the kind of thing he would do."

Joe sighed. "I'm sorry, Mac, but I really don't know anything…"

"Can you find something out? Look him up. All I need to know is what name he's living under."

Joe shook his head. "You know I can't do that. I'm a Watcher. We watch and record and _never_ interfere. There are rules, you know."

"But the rules say I shouldn't even know about you, but I do. You've helped me before…"

"All the more reason for me not to break any more. Look Mac, I know this is important to you, but you're on your own. I'm sorry."

Duncan stared at Joe in disbelief. "If I don't kill him, more people are going to die. Children! They're just children; they don't know how to defend themselves. Yeah, I can find him on my own, but the longer it takes, the more children he'll kill before I stop him. Do you really want their blood on your hands?"

Joe looked away. "I'm sorry, Mac. There are rules…" He started to turn away. "But I'll see what I can do."

Duncan grinned. "That's all I ask."

  


The next evening, Joe stopped by the dojo.

"He's living under the name Steve Johnson. Here's his address." Joe handed Duncan a slip of paper.

"Thanks."

Joe gave a brief smile and left.

* * *


	6. Chapter 5

Erik lay sprawled on Steve's bed. Steve had taken him to the arcade earlier and then they had gone to Bertucci's for dinner. Now they were back in Steve's apartment.

Steve had Erik pinned against the bed, caught between the man's legs. He grinned, eyes meeting Erik's as his hands roamed over the boy's naked chest. Erik lifted his arms, wrapping them around the man's neck, pulling his head down to Erik's lips. He could never get over his amazement at how gentle Steve was, how wonderful it was to actually enjoy sex.

He felt the familiar warmth of Steve's mouth on his. Hot, wet, sweeter then honey. His tongue like soft velvet inside Erik's mouth, his hands leaving trails of fire along Erik's naked body.

Suddenly Steve drew back, tensing. Erik gave an involuntary moan of protest at the sudden loss of contact.

"What is it?"

Steve looked back at him. "Shh… someone's coming."

Erik blinked in confusion. "What? How do you know?"

Steve got off him, finding and pulling on his jeans. Erik sat up on his elbow, watching as Steve left the bedroom. After a few seconds, he heard voices in the living room. Climbing out of bed, Erik grabbed his own clothes, quickly pulling them on before he hesitantly opened the bedroom door a crack.

There were two men in the room: Steve and another man. They were facing each other. Steve had his back to Erik. The other man seemed vaguely familiar. Olive colored skin, black hair pulled back in a ponytail, tall, fit. With a jolt, Erik recognized him as one of the people he had seen in Sherry's apartment. He had only gotten a glance at the man, but he was sure it was the same man.

"You killed them!" the man said. He had a strange accent… it sounded vaguely Scottish.

"They would have died anyway, MacLeod. I let them die happy," Steve told him.

The man – MacLeod – shook his head. "They were children, defenseless, and you killed them. There's no excuse for that."

"Someone would have killed them eventually. You know that."

MacLeod shook his head. "They didn't have a chance–"

"In the end there can be only one," Steve intoned softly. "They would have died anyway."

MacLeod drew his sword and with a shock, Erik realized that Steve was holding his own sword.

"It doesn't have to end like this," Steve whispered. He shifted his stance, ready to strike.

"No!" Erik cried without thinking. MacLeod's eyes jumped to him, but Steve didn't turn around.

"Go away," he told Erik, his voice soft and deadly.

"You're not going to kill him, are you?"

"Leave," Steve repeated.

"Promise me you won't kill him, Steve. Please?"

Now Steve did turn around. He walked over to Erik, stroking the boy's face. After a moment, he gave a slight, sad smile. "I promise," he whispered, and leaned forwards to kiss Erik lightly on the lips. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out two twenties, handing them to Erik. "Here. Go buy yourself a treat." Then he kissed Erik again.

"You won't kill him?"

Steve nodded. "I promise."

Erik took the money and hurried out of the room.

  
  


Once the boy had left, Steven returned his attention to Duncan. Duncan swallowed his revulsion at the sight of the older man kissing the boy.

"I see you haven't changed," he commented when the boy was gone.

Steven raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Still sleeping with children, though now you're beheading them, too."

Steve shrugged. "So? I'm immortal. I'm 600 years old. What does the difference of a few decades matter? If I met the boy again in ten years, you wouldn't even blink." The man paused then, his lips quirking. "Well, maybe _you_ would. Have you gotten over that man and woman ideal of yours yet?"

Duncan stiffened. "Let's just get this over with."

"It doesn't have to be like this," Steve whispered.

"Maybe it didn't, but not after you murdered those children."

"You know you loved me once."

Duncan shook his head. "I was your whore. That isn't love."

"That's not what you said at the time."

  


_It was early spring, 1863, and in a small room in an inn somewhere in Boston, two men lay in bed together. Soft, warm sunlight streamed in through the window above the bed._

_Duncan lay with his head resting on Steven's chest. Steven was lightly stroking his hair. He could smell the Steven's warm, musky scent, could feel the warm, strong, solid body beneath him. Duncan couldn't remember ever being this happy, this contented. He wished it could last forever. He wished that he could just forget everything and stay here, like this for the rest of time._

_He looked up, meeting Steven's eyes, feeling a warmth spreading through him as he saw the soft tenderness and love in the man's gaze. The golden sunlight poured gently over the man's face, making him seem unreal, like a dream of golden light. But he was real – firm and warm and real._

_Steven caressed his face, watching him with eyes half-lidded in pleasure. Duncan reached up, pulling his head closer and kissing, reveling in the sweet, rough warmth of the man's mouth._

_…not so different from a woman's…_

_And for the first time in the three years they had been together, Duncan didn't bother to shy away from the thought._

_He drew back, smiling as Steven's hands slipped from his hair to his shoulders. His mouth found Duncan's throat, kissing him as his hands worked their way down Duncan's back. He nuzzled the soft, tender flesh at the curve where Duncan's neck met his shoulder, his fingers stroking Duncan's hips. Duncan inhaled deeply, breathing in the clean, musky scent of the man's hair mingled with the slight tang of sweat and sex._

_Steven's mouth slid down to his nipple, his breath hot against Duncan's skin. Duncan moaned._

_…better than a woman…_

_Duncan felt a chill at the thought. He pulled back, gently pushing Steven away from his body. Steven looked up at him in confusion_

_"Duncan?" the man asked, moving his hands from Duncan's hips to his face._

_Duncan looked away. Better than a woman? No, no man could ever be better than a woman. And especially not this one, this… child molester. That was why he was here, after all. Right? So that Steven wouldn't rape children anymore?_

_"Duncan? Are you all right?" Steven asked, his voice concerned and confused._

_Duncan looked back at him, meeting his eyes._

_And he was lost, lost in a world of soft green… tenderness, love, lust, need, confusion… all mingled in the man's deep, ancient, expressive eyes. Beautiful, soft eyes, filled with need. And suddenly Duncan realized that Steven didn't care that Duncan was a man… it didn't matter to him, not one bit. All that mattered was that he wanted Duncan – wanted him for who he was, respected him for who he was in a way that went so much deeper than gender or age or anything else. _

_His breath caught in his throat as he met that intense gaze and all thoughts were washed from his mind. All thoughts save one._

_…I love this man… this person… I love him and want him and need him just as much as he wants me…_

_And suddenly it didn't matter that they were both men… because suddenly Duncan realized that they weren't both men. They were both people, both immortals, and both in love. And nothing else really mattered._

_He leaned forwards, catching Steven's familiar lips in his own, pulling him closer, pressing their bodies as closely together as he could. After a moment of surprise, Steven relaxed into his embrace, lips parting for Duncan's eager tongue. His arms settled comfortably around Duncan's waist, holding him close._

_"…I love you…" Duncan gasped against Steve's mouth.  
_

  


Duncan stared at Steven, realizing that they were suddenly standing closer to each other… close enough that all Duncan had to do was reach out, just a little, and he could touch Steven.

"That was a long time ago," he gasped.

Steven took another step closer and Duncan could almost smell the man's familiar scent. He was watching Duncan, his gaze as intense as it had been back then… over a century ago.

"Time is relative… especially when you're immortal."

Their faces were so close they were practically touching. All Duncan had to do was lean forwards, just a little, and their lips would be touching.

"You're body doesn't seem to think it's been such a long time," Steven breathed, his eyes flicking to Duncan's crotch.

Duncan flushed hotly, suddenly painfully aware of his body's well-conditioned response to Steven. He clenched his fists and took a step away from Steven.

"No," he said firmly, lifting his sword.

Steven blocked MacLeod's strike, stepping out of the way. For the next few minutes, they danced around the room, striking, blocking, dodging each other's swords and Duncan realized that either Steven was far better than he'd ever given the man credit for, or he'd improved his skill a great deal over the last century.

Duncan ducked Steven's sword, striking with his own. But Steven blocked his blade, twisting it out of his hand and sending it flying across the room. Duncan's mouth went dry as he tried to scramble away from Steven's blade. But he was trapped; there was nowhere to go. Behind him was the wall and in front of him was Steven, his sword sharp and lethal.

_I'm going to die. I'm really going to die,_ Duncan realized. There was nowhere to go, nothing to use as a weapon. He was really going to die… the thought filled his mind, paralyzing his body with fear.

Steven's sword swung up in an arc, blade flashing in the light, cold, hard, deadly,

_This wasn't real… he was dreaming…he had to be dreaming…_

Time seemed to slow as the sword descended over Duncan's head. _No, no, no, no!_ Duncan couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't breathe…

He could hear the hum of the sword as it sliced through the air, could see the feral gleam in Steven's too-familiar eyes, the way his lips thinned in determination, the way his muscles rippled beneath his sweat soaked shirt as he brought the sword down…

Duncan closed his eyes, pressing his body desperately against the wall as the hum of the sword's movement filled his ears, bracing himself for the impact…

But it never came. There was a harsh thud as the blade hit the floor, sending vibrations through the floor.

Slowly Duncan opened his eyes, staring at the sword, its blade now embedded in the wooden floor. His body felt suddenly limp with relief.

He lifted his eyes to Steven who was staring at him with a blank expression.

"…why?" Duncan managed to ask after a long silence.

Steven looked away. "I promised Erik I wouldn't kill you. I keep my word."

Duncan stared at the man in confusion, opening his mouth to say something, but Steven cut him off.

"Go, now. Before I change my mind."

Duncan didn't move. He wasn't entirely sure he _could_ move if he'd wanted to. All his strength seemed to have rushed out of him when he heard the sword hit the floor and all he could do now was stare at Steven in amazement.

The man pulled his sword from the floor, sheathing it. Then he extended his hand to Duncan, pulling him to his feet. Duncan felt an electric shock as he touched the man's rough, calloused hand and realized that he was still hard.

His cheeks flamed and he dropped his hand as soon as he had his balance, refusing to look at Steven. Steven retrieved Duncan's sword from where it had fallen and handed it to Duncan.

Duncan took it numbly.

"If you want, I'll leave," Steven said softly.

Now Duncan stared at him.

"And I'll stop killing pre-immortals." He leaned forwards, almost touching his lips to Duncan's, and Duncan realized that the man was just as hard as he was. But then he stepped back and turned away. "Just promise to take care of Erik for me… he deserves a family."

Duncan nodded and Steven gave him a small smile.

"And maybe someday we could…"

Steven looked at him with grief and exhaustion mingled with amusement. "Maybe someday. But not today."

Then he turned his back on Duncan and Duncan slowly made his was out of the apartment, feeling intensely disoriented and confused.

He paused at the door as something occurred to him. "How will I find Erik?"

Steven laughed. "I guess you don't want to pick him up where he's usually hanging out. I could pick him up and drop him off at your place before I leave."

Duncan nodded and left.


	7. Chapter 6

Erik climbed into Steve's car and buckled his seat belt. The man gave him a brief smile, but didn't say anything. That was strange; Steve usually talked to Erik as much as he could. But today they drove in silence, not to Steve's apartment but to a deserted parking lot. Then Steve stopped the car and looked at Erik.

After a long silence, Erik took a deep breath and asked, "Who was that guy?"

Steve gave a slight smile. "He's Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

Erik looked at him in confusion. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

Steve laughed and shook his head. "No, not really… It's a long, complicated story." He watched Erik for a few moments, as if judging something. Then he gave a slight nod and said, "I guess you should know, though MacLeod'll probably kill me for telling you. I'm immortal. Shh, just listen. I'm immortal. So is Duncan MacLeod. I'm 600 years old. The only way we can die is to be beheaded. That's why I carry a sword around… because there are always other immortals who want to take your head. Because when you take another immortal's head, you get stronger… you get all their power. That's why I killed those kids – because once they died, they would be immortal. They would have lived and lived and lived until it drove them insane. They would have fought and fought – to stay alive – until they hardened and couldn't care about anything anymore, or until they were too weak and someone took their head. It's so much better to die as a child… but it's hard, so hard just to kill yourself. Even when it would be in your best interest, humans have this need to live that overrides everything else. So we just keep going on and on and on, no matter how much we want to die." He stopped, looking at Erik's eyes.

Erik shook his head. "Is this some sort of joke?"

Steve laughed hollowly. "I wish. Would you like me to prove it to you?" Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. Erik watched in horror as the man drove it into his own belly, grunting with the pain. He sat there for a long moment, twisting the knife until he fell forwards onto the steering wheel.

Erik sat there, stunned and confused. What did he do now? The man had just killed himself… oh God, what would he tell the police? Maybe he wasn't really dead yet. Maybe Erik should check, check for a pulse or something.

But for all Erik's time on the street, he had never been this close to a dead body before, especially not the body of someone he knew and loved as much as Steve, and he couldn't bring himself to touch the body.

He would have thought that this was a dream, a nightmare, but the smell of blood that filled the air was too real. The way Steve had grunted as the knife penetrated his flesh, the way he had looked at Erik for the few seconds before he fell forwards, the twisted, pained expression on his face… they were all to real, to detailed for Erik to be dreaming.

Steve was dead. How could Steve be dead? How could he have killed himself like that? Why? _Oh God, what am I going to do?_

Erik knew he should do something… call the police, the hospital, make a run for it, _something_, but he couldn't. He couldn't even move. He could only stare in horror at Steve's dead body, trying not to be sick from the stench of blood that filled the air.

Erik almost screamed when he saw Steve's eyes open. The man sat up slowly, stiffly. Erik stared at him, frozen with fear, his heart beating frantically in his chest.

Steve reached out, catching Erik's hand and looking into the boy's eyes.

"I told you. I can't die."

Erik didn't even notice he was crying until Steve gently brushed the tears off his cheek.

"This can't be real… you… you were dead…" Erik knew it sounded stupid, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. What do you say when the only person in the world who you can trust kills himself and revives right in front of your eyes?

Smiling, Steve leaned forwards and kissed Erik.

"Does that feel real?" he asked against the boy's lips.

Erik could feel the rough, hard lips against his, smell the man's scent under the lingering stench of blood, feel the warmth of his breath against the boy's lips… No, he couldn't be dreaming this. He could never dream the sweet, hot velvet of the man's tongue slipping between his parted lips or the firm, strong muscles as his arms slid around the man's waist.

Steve held him close, kissing him and stroking his hair. Erik had never felt as safe as he did in Steve's warm, strong, steady embrace.

"Erik… I'm leaving," Steve whispered into his ear. The boy turned his head to look at him.

"What?"

"I'm leaving. I can't stay here anymore."

"…but… but you promised… You promised that you'd never betray me. And now you're leaving me alone," Erik whispered.

"I have to go. I'm so sorry. But I'm not leaving you alone. MacLeod agreed take you in at least until he could find you a real family."

Erik's vision blurred with tears. "Why can't you take me with you?"

"Because I can't. MacLeod will be better for you anyway."

Erik knew better than to argue further. If this was what Steve wanted… well, the man already done more for Erik than anyone else in his life. So Erik whipped his eyes, swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

Steve smiled. "You'll like MacLeod. I'm leaving later today, so we're going over to his place right now. Is there anything of yours you'd like to pick up first?"

Erik was about to say no when he suddenly remembered something. The teddy bear Steve had given him the day they'd met. If Steve was leaving him, at least he could have a reminder of him.

"Yeah."

After he had the teddy bear, along with a few other mementos from his past, Steve drove Erik to MacLeod's house. It turned out that MacLeod owned a dojo and lived in the rooms above it.

Erik followed Steve inside. There were several people there, most of whom Erik thought he recognized from Sherry's house. Sherry herself was being chased around the dojo by none other than MacLeod. The two other men Erik had seen were watching from the side along with another, much older man. Erik wondered suddenly if they were _all_ immortal.

He hadn't really gotten a good look at either of the two other men when he had seen them at Sherry's house. They both looked to be in their twenties. Both had blond hair and light skin, though one's hair was longer than the other's. And the one with shorted hair was slightly shorter. Neither of them were really all that bad looking, really. Not that he'd dare tell them that. Not unless they wanted him…

Erik forcibly turned his mind away from that thought. He'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

MacLeod walked over to Steve and Erik. He gave Steve a tight, controlled glance and Erik could almost _feel_ the tension between the two men.

"Here he is, MacLeod. And don't worry, I'm leaving today," Steve said shortly. His voice harsh, more firmly controlled than Erik had ever heard it before.

He looked between the two men, both firmly, desperately controlled, but even so he could feel the underlying mass of emotions – bitterness, anger, desperation, fear, helplessness…

But then Steve turned and was gone before Erik even had a chance to say good-bye, leaving Erik felling more empty and alone than he had… well, at least since he had first met Steve.

He stared after Steve for a long time, his eyes burning with tears. But he wasn't going to cry. Not here, in front of these strangers. He couldn't afford to loose control in front of them.

So instead he turned around and faced MacLeod.

"So you did decide to adopt him!" Sherry exclaimed.

"Steven asked me to make sure he was okay," MacLeod told her firmly. "And I never said I was adopting him permanently."

Sherry beamed. "I knew you'd come around! But who was that man?"

MacLeod gave her an odd look – closed and irritated. "An old acquaintance. Jerome, why don't you walk Sherry home?"

The taller of the two men nodded and left the dojo with Sherry.

"Mac?" asked the shorter man.

MacLeod sighed. "It's a long story. Suffice to say that Steven beat me, but didn't take my head. Because he had promised Erik, here, that he wouldn't. Instead, he agreed to leave and stop killing – children – if I would make sure that Erik was okay."

"And you let him? You just let him walk away and took his word for it that he'd stop?"

MacLeod nodded. "Richie, he _beat _me. He should have taken my head. He _had his sword at my throat_ and he let me live." Then MacLeod turned back to Erik. "Come on, let's go upstairs and I can show you your room."

  


  


  
  
That night Erik lay in his new bed, staring at the ceiling. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks and he hugged the teddy bear closer. He could here MacLeod talking to Richie in the kitchen, though he couldn't make out what they were saying. He didn't really care anyway. Steve was gone. He would probably never see the man again. The thought made him feel empty, cold, alone. But at least Steve had left him with someone to take care of him.

It felt weird to be sleeping alone in a soft, clean bed. Strange to think of actually having someone to take care of him. Even Steve hadn't really taken care of him. Not like a parent.

He wondered if MacLeod would demand a similar price for the care. Probably, though he hoped not. He loved Steve, more than anyone else in the world, and he didn't want _anyone_ taking Steve's place. But if, and when, MacLeod asked, Erik would be willing. And until then, he could enjoy the man's hospitality.

With that thought, Erik hugged the teddy bear closer and drifted into sleep, imagining that Steve was here again with him, holding him and making him safe.

* * *

A/N: Well, this is the end, but I am working on a sequal... at first they were supposed to be 1 story, but I think that this one is complete as it is. Orange and pHbalence: Thanks for your reviews. I'll get working on the sequal ASAP. Promise.  



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